An Angel Come to Save Me
by Elphaba'sGirl
Summary: The day Joseph Pulitzer dies, his daughter Katherine is alone. It is nine o'clock when the knock comes. She heads for the door, but it is open before she gets there, and suddenly, she is not alone.


**Oz, I've been in an angsty mood all day. Something is wrong with the world. And not just that Joseph Pulitzer is the editor (eh? See what I did there?). Then I found myself writing... This. Not even sure what the point is, exactly, but it made me feel better. The fluffiest newsies fanfic I've ever written... And still majorly angsty. Titled, of course, for one of three lines within the score of the show that can always make me smile, no matter what mood I'm in.**

**Disclaimer: Nope. It'd still be on broadway if I owned it.**

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The day Joseph Pulitzer dies, his daughter Katherine is alone.

It is to be expected. She's detached herself from the high society world she was born into, favoring the companionship of a group of rowdy boys, none too emotionally intelligent, and her colleagues do not know her well enough to talk with her about it.

The newsies don't mean to ignore her feelings, but to them, (most of them, anyway), "Joseph Pulitzer" is just a name. A name that bought them pain and suffering, for many, many years.

She grieves alone, in her apartment, and wonders why she is crying. After all her father did during his life, she wonders what reason she has to miss him. She rarely spoke with him when he was alive; with him dead, it shouldn't be any different.

It is nine o'clock when the knock comes.

She hurriedly dries her eyes and heads for the door, but it is open before she gets there, and suddenly, she is not alone.

He holds her close, and she stiffens.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, and she knows her means it.

"Jack..." she whispers, and he tightens his hold on her. "You must think me a fool."

"Nah," he says, stroking her hair. "'Course not."

She slides her arms around him and returns his embrace, and then she begins to cry. It is different from her crying earlier. Those were easy, silent tears, these are dry,

body wracking sobs that leave her unable to breathe as she holds onto him. Jack rubs gentle, soothing circles into her back, and talks to her as she cries, because he knows her. He knows that she needs words to feel safe, because she is a writer, and that silence reminds her of stone and concrete.

"I understand, Ace. I do. He's your father. And I'll betcha have some pretty good memories, huh?" He plants a tender kiss on the top of her head. "Betcha he read you bedtime stories when you was younga. Betcha he sang ya to sleep when ya had nightmares, huh? Christmases, with gifts done up in silver wrappings, and birthdays, with pink balloons."

She chokes a little. "Blue."

"Huh?"

"Blue balloons. I never liked pink."

"Right, Ace. Blue balloons, then. And on stormy nights, he'd hold ya close an' tell ya 'bout

the angels dancin' in the heavens." Slowly, he picks her up and carries her to a chair, where he sits with her held tight in his lap. She snuggles closer to him, shivering a little as she thinks of her childhood. His arms are strong around her, and she is safe.

"Then, when it was sunny, he'd take ya walking, an' he'd buy you stuffed animals and dolls, and, Ace, you shoulda been spoiled rotten. But ya weren't, 'cause you's the sweetest girl I know, and candy don't spoil, right?"

Her tears are slowing, but her breathing is still uneven. "H how do you know all this?" His breath catches in his throat. "Guess I maybe had a father like that, too, once." She looks up at him, her blue eyes full of tears. "Tell me about him?"

"Ya don' wanna hear 'bout my father, Ace."

"Please?"

He sighs, looks over her head, and clears his throat. "He could play fiddle," he begins, and his expression softens a little. Katherine buries her face in his chest, and he runs his strong hands through her hair. "I remember dancin' with my mother an' my sister, all through the night, s'times, an' he'd never falter a minute.

"He had big, strong hands, an' I guess I was real small, 'cause jus' one of them was as big as my whole face. He could ride real fast, like the wind, and he said he wanted ta go out west someday. Said there was a little town he'd heard of, just bein' built. He called it Santa Fe.

I useta watch him work; we lived in Maine when I was little, an' he was a blacksmith. We moved ta New York when I was four, an' my mother an' sister died the next year." He tries to wet his lips, but his mouth is dry and he feels tears welling in his eyes.

"Go on," Katherine whispers, when it becomes clear that he isn't going to continue without prodding.

"It's sad, Ace. Not really whatcha need righ' now."

"I like listening to your voice," she says softly, and she loses herself in the rhythm of his heartbeat and the vibrations of his voice.

He grudgingly agrees, and begins to rock her softly, back and forth, like he would a small child. "He'd always been honest. He was a good man. But once it was jus' us... he changed. He killed a man eight months after Mother an' Jess passed. His prison sentence was five years. By the time he got out, I was a newsie through and through, had been for 'bout four years."

She looks up at him when he stops again. "Keep going," she begs him.

"It's real sad, Ace," he says, and twin tears run down his cheeks.

"Please, Jack."

He closes his eyes and holds her tight, now as much for himself as for her. "Two weeks

after he got out 'a jail, the brother of the man he killed murdered him. I made a dollar and eighty five cents the next day, tellin' the world that my own father, the murderer, was murdered."

He doesn't realize that she's asleep until he finishes talking, and then he carries her to her bed and pulls the covers up to her chin. He kisses her tenderly on her forehead and stands again, preparing to leave.

"Love ya, Ace."


End file.
